You Don't Deserve to Die
by dracoJAE
Summary: A 1-shot fic... (DHr pic attached) Her eyes flew open, and she stifled a scream. She was staring into eyes a tinge of blue and gray... eyes with a depth she could feel herself falling into... She was in the embrace of Draco Malfoy.


**YOU DON'T DESERVE TO DIE**

  


**~*~**

  
  
  
_Bloody... bloody black-hooded guys,_ Hermione thought, very disorientedly, leaning against the very old wooden railing of the window in the tallest tower of Hogwarts. She hiccuped, slightly, feeling weirdly euphoric. _I am going to die..._ she mused, letting out a hysterical chuckle. _I am going to die and to hell with everyone else._   
  
Her fingers trembled slightly, and she let go of the beer bottle. It smashed, to the ground, shattering in millions of pieces, and Hermione wondered what it would feel like to slit herself on the throat with one of those jagged pieces.   
  
Tentatively she peered down into the blackness of the night. She knew, despite her drunken state she had had the whole of _Hogwarts: A History_ lodged in her mind, that the tower she was in overlooked the Quidditch Pitch. The Quidditch Pitch... how long ago had that been? The frequent haunt of Ron and Harry, she had always been dragged down to there to watch the guys practice. How much time had passed? When would they ever get a chance to be the Dream Trio again?   
  
Bitterly Hermione smiled. Ron... he was gone. Gone. And so was she, actually. The only thing she had left... dignity. Was torn to shreds and left to flutter in the wind that carried it far far into the night.   
  
Even then, in the dark dungeons of Voldemort's manor, she had prayed. Prayed for Ron, prayed for Harry, prayed for herself. It was common knowledge, of course, that Ron and her were mere baits. Baits to lure Harry Potter, because the Boy Who Lived would rather die than see his friends destroyed.   
  
Foolish. Foolish Gryffindor bravery. What had it resulted in? Ron killed, and her... raped. Yet Harry had left unscathed.   
  
Perhaps if she had been in a logical state of mind Hermione would have tried to understand Harry. It wasn't his fault, after all, that he had failed to save them. He _had_ tried his best... but it just wasn't enough.   
  
  
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**_Harry Potter's Seventh Year, Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts_**   
  
  
"Don't worry," he had said. And they had trusted him.   
  
They knew, deep in their hearts, that the reign of the Dark Lord was imminent. But, Gryffindors as they were, all clung to that tiny thread of hope. That slightly optimistic prayer that, perhaps, after all, Harry Potter would defeat Voldemort.   
  
Lessons continued as usual, but students were numb and lifeless. Many had been killed in the previous year's raid by the Deatheaters, and even the Slytherins were subdued and grave. No longer any petty tauntings in the hallways, archenemies met with a silent unspoken truce. The true spirit of Hogwarts was being tested, and the students were trying their very best to hold on.   
  
Their headmaster was tired, that they could tell. Yet this only served for them to hold him in higher regard, because anyone else would have buckled under the immense strain. He was weary, yet he continued to be strong for their sake.   
  
Harry tried, too, God knew he tried.   
  
No more laughter, no more easy talk in the common room. Mechanically, robotically, every night after lessons the Trio would sit by the hearth silently contemplating their ways. It hurt Hermione, how Ron had allowed himself to surrender to resignation, and how Harry had become gaunter and weaker. She tried to inject hope, she tried to make them smile, but nothing ever came out of her attempts. Quietly, almost coldly, they would look at her and their eyes would say _ Give up, Hermione, It's no longer worth the effort and pain._   
  
She cried herself to sleep every day, and soon, too, she adopted the numb approach. Her actions did not register in her mind, and time spent doing whatever she was doing was only spent to while the time away. They were all waiting, she knew, for death.   
  
  
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**_Same year, the Hogwarts Dungeons_**   
  
  
When she came to her senses it took a full minute before she could make out her surroundings. Her memory was fuzzy, and it was with great effort could she dredge up what had occurred... and when.   
  
Inhaling deeply Hermione sat up straighter-- her wrists and feet were bound by iron slacks to the slimy walls of the dark dungeon and it hurt to slouch. Her eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness, and she forced herself to recall.   
  
_ Chaos... screams, shouts, yells. Black robes billowing everywhere... flash of green light here and there... dead and lifeless bodies... god... she felt so sick... crawling to a corner she tried to huddle up and stop the clump of vomit rising in her throat but her stomach heaved and she lay, exhausted, closing her eyes to the nightmare that was no longer a bad dream but reality...   
  
"Keep her alive!"   
  
The shout made little sense to her befuddled mind... but she was too weak to care... Harry... Ron... god... where are you guys when I need you the most? Her hand reached out to grope for her wand, because somehow her brain registered that without the instrument she couldn't free herself from this senseless torment. It was not there, however... her fingers weakened and she succumbed herself to darkness... to unconsciousness... her last thought in mind: I don't wanna die... _   
  
"Had fun, Mudblood?"   
  
Reluctantly she jerked herself back to the present, and stared rebelliously at the Deatheater in front.   
  
"Come, now, surely being the intelligent girl you are you can answer a simple question?" _God_ she hated that tone, mocking her, taunting her...   
  
"Sure, I had fun," she spat, eyes flashing in anger. "More fun than you guys, anyway, killing innocent lives here and there and for what? A stupid weak failure who dared call himself Lord Voldemort!"   
  
She could sense the tide of fury that washed over her captor, and before she knew it he had sent a kick to her ribs. Involuntarily she doubled up in agony, but she forced the tears that welled up to go back. She would not cry, she would not let the son-of-a-bitch know that he had caused her pain.   
  
"Well, well," the man seethed, when he had regained his cool. "The Dark Lord would like to hear about this... he can put you through a hundred ways of torture you could never imagine..."   
  
Hermione glared. "Like I care," she couldn't resist saying, and was slightly surprised when her captor turned and left.   
  
  
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**_Same year, Unknown whereabouts_**   
  
  
"No, PLEASE! You asshole sucker LET GO OF HIM NOW!"   
  
She might as well have been talking to a wall, because no one responded. Looking over at Ron her heart constricted. He had been tied up in a chair, helpless to the streams of curses the Deatheaters sent his way.   
  
"YOU BLOODY IDIOTS!" she screamed.   
  
Ron had grown so thin... so thin to the point of being emaciated. His hands were mere sticks, and his body, though still lanky, was weak. His eyes had dulled in the face of torture, and his mouth had a permanent grimace etched in place.   
  
She kicked out, though she knew it was useless, but she needed some way to vent her anger, god, those assholes... she screamed, again, in outrage when the lead Deatheater pointed his wand at Ron and yelled "Crucio!"   
  
It was as though the curse had been directed at her--- God it hurt her so much to see him in such pain! Ron... her only true love in her life, probably. She remembered his warm smile, his twinkling eyes, how they never stopped bickering-- _No._ she thought resolutely, _I'm NOT taking the trip down THAT memory lane._ It hurt too much to remember.   
  
Tears stung in her eyes as she caught sight of Ron's almost-lifeless body in the wooden chair. _Why, why the torture?_ she asked herself bitterly. Ron... dear Ron... being tortured because he refused to let known of Harry's whereabouts. Tortured because he was a faithful and loyal friend, tortured because he loved Harry, tortured because he was brave and courageous and upright... Only three people knew of Harry's hiding place-- she, Ron, and Dumbledore. Yet where was Dumbledore? True... he was old, weak, and exhausted, but Hermione had always had faith in him. Faith in him that he would find the way out, faith in him that he would save them from this torment. And if not Dumbledore, Harry. Wouldn't he be coming in now, knight in shining armor, ready to save them as always, as had always been the case throughout their seven years in Hogwarts?   
  
No, neither of them had turned up. Leaving her and Ron to be tortured to death.   
  
"Hold on, Ron," she whispered under her breath, a futile prayer sent to the heavens. "We can make it through."   
  
  
  
_______________________________________________________________   
  
  
  
But they hadn't. They hadn't made it through.   
  
Or, rather, _Ron_ hadn't made it through.   
  
Drunk as she was Hermione could feel the pain... the pain ripping through her body, her heart, her soul.   
  
_Ron... on the ground... dead. He couldn't bear it... not any more... not when he had to suffer fifteen Cruciatus Curses a day. He couldn't bear it... any more... not when he was forced, repeatedly, to kill families of innocent Muggles admidst the cruel tauntings of the walking dead. That's right, Hermione recalled bitterly, the Deatheaters were no longer live creatures. They were worse off than animals... they were the walking dead. _   
  
A rhetorical question: _Why_ the hell? Why were they doing this?   
  
A question that needed no answer--- because of him. _Harry Potter_. If Ron hadn't been that damned faithful... if he hadn't been that damned loyal... he would have a chance of surviving. Hermione hated herself for thinking that way, because logically she knew it was not Harry's fault. Neither was it Dumbledore's, hers, or Ron's. But...   
  
In her heart Ron had always come first.   
  
"Accio beer," she muttered, throwing her head back as she caught the bottle that whizzed into her hands. Gulping down the alcohol as she would a soda, she let out another hysterical chuckle.   
  
How good... how good it felt to throw all her worries away, how good it felt to have her pain gone with the wind, gone into some place faraway... How good it felt, to no longer care... How good it would feel, to join Ron in the heavenly place called Death...   
  
Her heart lurched slightly as she peered down once more, but not in fright-- rather, in excitement. Hermione Granger wasn't a really adventurous girl by heart, but what she was going to do...   
  
She swallowed down the last drop of beer, then hurled it over the railing into the darkness of the night.   
  
_Take a deep breath... that's good Hermione!_ she giggled to herself, then swung a leg over the wooden beam. Looking up the sky was clear, a rare sight with numerous stars embedded and twinkling down at her. _Goodbye, guys_, she thought. _I'll meet you all again._   
  
She jumped.   
  
  
  
========================================================   
  
  
  
Drifting...   
  
She felt so serene, so at peace with the world. _Entering the world as a Muggle and leaving it in a Muggle way,_she mused, enjoying the sensations the breeze was bringing her. Like a caress it stroked her face, her arms, her legs. _If I had known dying would feel so great..._   
  
Unbidded she closed her eyes...   
  
  
  
=========================================================   
  
  
  
_Do they send angels to receive you when you fall, anyway?_   
  
The embrace was warm and friendly... welcoming. Hermione smiled to herself. If she had known dying would feel so great she would have done it earlier! She snuggled into the angel that was holding her, and whispered a soft thanks.   
  
"You're welcome," a husky voice replied, and she sat up suddenly. _No, NO,_ she thought desperately, her heart crying out a silent plea. _Let it not be what I think it is..._   
  
Her eyes flew open, and she stifled a scream. She was staring into eyes a tinge of blue and gray... eyes with a depth she could feel herself falling into...   
  
She was in the embrace of Draco Malfoy.   
  
He was riding his broom almost lazily, circling round and round the tower even as she stared into his gaze.   
  
Moments of pause.   
  
She couldn't tear herself away from his eyes...   
  
"You don't deserve to die," he said, softly, finally breaking the silence.   
  
Was it the alcohol, or did he look particularly caring?   
  
She shook her head in denial; there was still a chance, she hadn't lost her courage to die yet, yes, she could always leap from Malfoy's broom off into space...   
  
Her body made an abrupt movement, almost as though it was tearing itself away from his grasp. She shut her eyes, prepared to fall again...   
  
"Hermione, _don't_," he said, and her eyes fluttered open. She stared at him... weird, it must be her eyes, because the boy was starting to look blurry round the edges...   
  
"Hermione, don't." he repeated.   
  
She continued staring, puzzled by this boy whose broom she was straddled on.   
  
"You don't deserve to die."   
  
Five simple words.   
  
Hermione inhaled.   
  
Silence.   
  
And then it registered, and she gazed, shocked, at her... saviour.   
  
"I don't deserve to die," she whispered.   
  
  
  
  
  
..................................................................................//** **end**   
  
  
Right... guys... I've just drawn this picture of Hermione on Draco's broom... http[://]www[dot]geocities[dot]com[/]shuae107[/]hd[dot]jpg. Just replace all da [] with the punctuation mark denoted... ff.net doesn't allow linking =(. aniwaes... I did this picture first on paper with a black marker, then scanned it in and edited it using PhotoShop. It's now blurred and sponged... but yeah, please review! =)! I wanna know what you guys think of my pic!   
  
---*//dracoJAE 


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